


a smile and a gun

by Tedda



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Sex, Gun Violence, Kidnapping, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27511423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedda/pseuds/Tedda
Summary: It's been a month since Patrick last talked to his family. No one has bothered reaching out to check if he's still alive or ask where he's been the entire time. He can return to a shabby house in the suburbs that has never felt like home, that has only ever been a place he's shared with strangers who happen to be blood-related to him. Or he can follow Jonny who'd bring down the stars from the sky for Patrick if he had to. Who's offering a home and a family and everything Patrick used to dream of in the backstreets of Buffalo.It's an easy decision to make.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 14
Kudos: 163





	a smile and a gun

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by [ Jonny's comments ](https://jonny-toews.tumblr.com/post/631693530829553664/what-article) about Stan and the recent moves made by the Hawks that really made me want to write mob boss Jonny. It’s not quite what I thought it would be when I started writing but this is what happened. Saader is still a Hawk in this fic because I am petty and not ready to accept that he was traded again.
> 
> Many thanks to [ Kira ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kkane88/pseuds/Kkane88) for being an awesome friend and beta!
> 
> Please be aware of the graphic descriptions of violence or check the end notes for more details!
> 
> Title taken from [ this ](https://www.azquotes.com/picture-quotes/quote-a-smile-can-get-you-far-but-a-smile-with-a-gun-can-get-you-further-al-capone-85-89-92.jpg) Al Capone quote!

At the end of the night, Patrick barely remembers how he ends up in Jonny's lap, lazily grinding down on Jonny's thighs while Jonny tongue-fucks his mouth. He still remembers coming to the bar with James and being confused by the large crowd of men hanging out in the VIP section. He remembers having a drink when a tall, dark-haired guy asked him to join them.

The VIP section is a closed-off space, a separate room with dimmed purple-reddish lights with leather couches and expensive-looking marble tables. The music is still loud in here, the bass raucous enough to make Patrick's skull throb, the floor shaking beneath his sneakers. Most men are on the couches, sipping expensive drinks, chatting, gambling, watching the people on the packed dance floor.

Jonny had been in the same corner where he is now, a glass of cognac in his hand.

Patrick still remembers spotting Jonny right away, feeling his gaze linger as he stumbled into the room, taking in the scene wide-eyed. He remembers the shiver running down his spine when the guy next to him pointed to Jonny and the feeling of being pulled into his direction like a moth is drawn to light, his heart drumming against his ribcage at the sheer intensity of Jonny's hungry eyes when Patrick followed his invitation.

But everything after that is a blur. He has some vague memories of a drink being shoved into his hand, the bitter, berry-like liquid running down his throat. Of Jonny's arm around his shoulders, his hand on Patrick's knee, his lips brushing along the shell of Patrick's ear. He doesn't think he'll remember much of the evening other than the slide of Jonny's lips on his, his body shaking with the beat of the thrumming bass, the way Jonny brushed everyone else off when they tried talking to him, all his attention reserved for Patrick.

-

Patrick doesn't remember much past that either. There's some vague snippets of sitting in a car, some fancy kind of limousine with a driver, mini-fridge, and TV screens, but it's only coming back slowly as he blinks awake in a bed that isn't his. The sheets around him are ridiculously soft, warming up his naked body, and the room is bright, curtains drawn back to let the sun shine through the huge panorama windows. Next to him, Jonny is leaning against the headboard, scribbling something down on a stack of documents. His golden fountain pen shimmers in the morning light.

He looks even better than Patrick could have guessed in the bar yesterday. His shoulders are broad, his chest smooth and muscular. But what draws Patrick in is his face. His sharp cheekbones are decorated by light stubble, there are tiny scars around his lips, and his eyes focus on Patrick as soon as he realizes that he's awake. Yesterday, they seemed almost black in the dim lights, but they're actually a dark brown with small wrinkles around the corners. Yet, the fierce focus in them is the same. The way he looks at Patrick like he's staring right through the blanket at his naked body, hungry and intent.

Patrick clears his throat. "Where are we?"

"Downtown Buffalo," Jonny says smoothly, putting his documents to the side. "Are you hungry? Room service should be here with breakfast in a second."

It's casual, like it's no big deal, like this isn't a suite in one of the most expensive hotels in the city. Patrick should find his clothes and leave but he doesn't. He stays for breakfast and then lets Jonny fuck him again.

After that, he can't bring himself to leave either.

-

Jonny doesn't seem to mind that Patrick keeps hanging around after that first day. He takes him out to fancy restaurants and the VIP section of every club in Buffalo. He buys every item Patrick so much as looks at when they go on a shopping spree. He keeps his arm firmly wrapped around Patrick's waist and looks at him like he's the best thing Jonny's ever seen.

After two weeks, Patrick has his own credit card. After four, Jonny asks him to come back home to Chicago with him. He looks all soft and hopeful when he asks, gentler than Patrick has ever witnessed him.

It's been a month since Patrick last talked to his family. No one has bothered reaching out to check if he's still alive or ask where he's been the entire time. He can return to a shabby house in the suburbs that has never felt like home, that has only ever been a place he's shared with strangers who happen to be blood-related to him. Or he can follow Jonny who'd bring down the stars from the sky for Patrick if he had to. Who's offering a home and a family and everything Patrick used to dream of in the backstreets of Buffalo.

It's an easy decision to make.

-

They fly home in the middle of the night. Jonny's driver takes them from the hotel straight to the plane where they meet up with Sharpy and the rest of the guys. There are none of the pretty, barely dressed girls around that Patrick's used to seeing at all the parties.

Jonny's arm around his waist feels significant suddenly.

"All quiet," Sharpy says at the foot of the stairs that lead into the small private jet. "They're waiting for you in Chicago, Tazer."

Jonny nods and then smirks at Patrick's shameless gasp at the interior of the jet. There are just six seats that look more comfortable than anything Patrick's ever sat on, two large tables, and a couch at the back of the plane.

He could get used to this.

They serve his favorite food after take-off with real cutlery and plates. Jonny's very amused by Patrick's delighted smile.

"You're gonna love Chicago," he promises, brushing his lips across Patrick's temple. "I can't wait for you to see the house."

If Patrick didn't like it, Jonny would probably go out of his way to buy a new one.

Patrick hums and turns so he can snuggle into Jonny's arms, his stomach going fuzzy when Jonny immediately lifts his arm and strokes a hand through his hair.

-

It turns out that Jonny won't have to buy a new house for him after all. Patrick should have known that the house would turn out to be a whole villa, Jonny's housekeeper already waiting for them as yet another driver drops them off and proceeds to unload the bags.

They end the tour in the huge bedroom with grayish furniture, accented by light pastel colors. Knowing Jonny, he probably had an entire interior design team working on the house, even if he doesn't care about décor pieces and color schemes himself.

Jonny cups Patrick's jaw once he's done inspecting the closets, smiling when Patrick immediately goes for a kiss and wraps his arms around his neck.

"I need to get down and meet up with the rest of the Hawks to hear what's been going on while I was gone. Make yourself at home, don't wait for me to have breakfast. The housekeeper will bring something up if you ring."

"I'll miss you."

"Of course you will." Jonny looks smug at that, delicately kissing the corner of Patrick's mouth. "I'll take you with me soon, introduce you to all the guys and the rest of the Hawks."

Patrick shivers and nods, allowing Jonny to steal another kiss with his hands tangled into Patrick's curls.

-

He starts spending time with the younger guys of the Blackhawks. They're usually the ones that like partying and the parties are unlike anything Patrick has ever seen, one bigger and fancier than the other. Other than that, he hangs out with the wives and girlfriends and the kids, particularly the Sharp girls, and doesn't ask too many questions when Jonny leaves the conference room after a long day.

"A thousand bucks for dresses?" Jonny asks, frowning at his banking account. "That's insane, even for you."

"Maddie wants to throw a tea party. The girls have to look pretty."

Jonny huffs out another breath, but his face softens when he looks up at Patrick. They both know that he's getting bored. As much fun as it is to spend Jonny's money and get wasted in the club and later to get laid at home, he's found himself more irritated than delighted by all the free time lately. Jonny might not like Patrick being too involved with his businesses, but he'll need to find something to do eventually.

"I never should have sent someone to invite you to join us in that club," Jonny grumbles, not bothering to hide his fond eyes as he sets the bank statements down on his nightstand.

Now it's Patrick who frowns, pretending to be insulted. He takes a step back and tilts his head.

"I thought I was the prettiest person in the club, Jon."

He remembers Jonny telling him that just one day later, his arms wrapped tightly around Patrick's body as he was pounding into him. Remembers Jonny saying that he wanted Patrick as soon as he laid eyes on him. He remembers the want in Jonny's eyes and the intensity of his orgasm washing him over.

"Come here," Jonny says sharply. He has the same look in his eyes now, the brown color shifting to something dark and hungry. It's easy to see why so many people are intimidated by Jonny, but the shiver running down Patrick's back is a pleasant one.

When he slides into Jonny's lap, Jonny kisses him, slow at first, but his hand is already making its way into Patrick's pants, and Patrick lets his legs fall open.

"Slut," Jonny whispers fondly when he finds Patrick's cock half-hard.

"Not a slut."

Jonny hums, his thumb circling the tip of Patrick's dick. It twitches in his hand, and Patrick has to tear his lips away from Jonny's, teeth sinking into his lower lip to bite back a moan.

"Look at you." Jonny gives his dick a few strokes. "Just as desperate as any whore I've ever taken home from the club."

They've never been like that. Patrick might have always been easy for it, but he's not one of the cheap whores that some of the Hawks surround themselves with. But Jonny likes to pretend he could get rid of him easily. Maybe it's the same way for him as it is for Patrick. Maybe sometimes it's so intense that it scares him, and then it's easier to pretend it doesn't mean anything.

Before Patrick can protest, Jonny stuffs two fingers into his mouth and starts jerking him off for real, moving his fingers around in his mouth at the same time. He rubs his thumb along Patrick's lower lip, pushes his fingers against the insides of his jaws, and fucks them into his mouth until Patrick gags on it, hips buckling. He comes with a gasp, muffled by Jonny's fingers, sinking into his arms.

"Pretty," Jonny repeats when Patrick slides down to the floor, unzips his pants, and gets his mouth on Jonny's cock. It must be an obnoxious filthy scene, him on his knees with his legs spread, clothing messed up as he chokes himself on Jonny's dick, and Jonny hums appreciatively above him, his eyes half-closed.

Patrick lets Jonny come down his throat, lazily mouthing at his thigh while Jonny slumps down and heaves out a deep breath.

"I'm gonna be late for my meeting," he mutters, sounding like he could not care less.

Patrick innocently bats his eyelashes up at him.

-

Patrick ends up meeting Seabs by accident. Seabs is a big deal among the mob—the leader of the Hawks along with Jonny—so Patrick expected a big deal to be made out of his visits, too. What Patrick did not expect is to randomly run into Seabs when he's looking for Jonny in the library.

He looks just like Patrick pictured it; tall and dark-haired, a wild, scruffy beard covering his jaws and throat, a few tattooed numbers decorating his forearm. His eyes are glassy and bright, the same intensity in them that Patrick's used to seeing from Jonny but in a very different way. Less familiar and a little more threatening.

"Sorry," he stutters out as both men shift their attention from their stack of documents to him. "I didn't mean to—"

"Come on in," Jonny interrupts, his voice gentle as Patrick's already walking backward, attempting to close the door again. They're sitting around the fireplace, a bottle of champagne on the table in front of them, but Jonny leans back on the small couch, arm thrown over the headrest. It's an invitation more than anything so Patrick slides into the open space.

"So that's the kid," Seabs says, narrowing his eyes.

Jonny hums while Patrick keeps his mouth shut that he's hardly a kid. Seabs is intimidating, the quiet calmness that he carries himself with feels like there's a hint of a warning in his posture, but he's not hostile, and with Jonny by his side, it's impossible to be scared anyway.

They carry on with their conversation afterward like Patrick's not even there, but Jonny's fingers keep stroking over his shoulder and his neck, lingering, a constant reminder that Patrick's all his to touch whenever and however he wants. It's not like Patrick understands what they're talking about so he zones out to the gentle strokes through the hair at the nape of his neck and the feeling of belonging into Jonny's arms.

Seabs leaves later, offering a tiny nod to Patrick and a clap to Jonny's shoulder.

"I'll see you once I have news about the deal." His face is weirdly serious. "I wouldn't worry about it. Not yet anyway. But it can't hurt to be alert."

Jonny nods. "I'll let the guys know, just in case. Thanks, Seabs. I appreciate it."

"I'll be in touch," Seabs says, nodding again in Patrick's direction before letting the door to the library fall shut behind him.

"Deal?" Patrick repeats softly, turning in Jonny's arms.

For a moment, Jonny's eyelids flutter shut, then he shakes his head. "Nothing to concern you with."

"I don't like it when you do that."

"When I do what, sweetheart?"

"When you treat me like a kid that you don't want to bother with."

A laugh escapes Jonny's throat, soft and teasing as he places a peck on Patrick's lips. "It's not about that. The less you know the safer you are."

"See?" He pushes his chin forward, folding his arms across his chest. It sucks that Jonny's fingers brushing along his jaw are enough to make him soften. "I'm not a kid that you need to keep safe."

He almost expects Jonny to put up a fight, but he ends up sighing and kissing him again.

"Yes, you're right. Let me make a few calls to sort some stuff out, and I'll talk to you before I deal with the rest of the Hawks."

"Promise?"

Jonny's thumb slides along his lower lip. "Promise."

-

Apparently, Seabs heard rumors about a few of the rival gangs possibly joining forces. Patrick hasn't been in Chicago long enough to understand the hierarchy and territories—and Jonny's still intent on making sure it mostly stays that way—but he does recognize a few names from the phone calls he's overheard and understands enough to see that the smaller other gangs are, the better it is for the Hawks.

"Backes?" he repeats, searching his foggy brain for information on that name. It sounds vaguely familiar.

"The guy who gave me this."

Jonny pushes the blanket down to expose his smooth, tanned skin, huffing out a deep breath. His body is scarred, from the little marks around his lips to the bruises and wounds on his thighs and legs, but the scar on his stomach is easily the biggest and most noticeable.

"Almost put me in the hospital," Jonny spits out bitterly at the sheer memory. "Got me in a shaggy street fight. I was young and dumb and inexperienced. He figured I'd be an easy target, I'm guessing. The guys did get back at him though. We fought his guys twice that same year, won both times."

"Looks like he got you pretty good." Patrick runs his finger along the imperfect skin, watching the smooth muscles ripple at Jonny's inhale when Patrick presses his lips to the same spot.

Somehow, Jonny manages to look at him with fondness in his eyes, yet there's anger flashing behind that façade too. His fingers curl around Patrick's neck when Patrick rests his head on his chest, lowering his head to keep mouthing at the warm skin.

"I got my revenge a couple of years later. Didn't even mean to go at it, but he went after one of us. Cheap shot from behind. I don't think he expected me to get my own hands dirty, but we did have some unfinished business."

It's chilling how casually he talks about hurting others, but it makes Patrick shiver with pleasure. He loves the possessive curl of Jonny's fingers around his neck, demanding and controlling. It's like it's everything he never knew he'd be into. Willingly, he lets himself be hauled up, finding the spot between Jonny's spread legs, nosing his way up Jonny's chest and throat back to his lips.

"I'm not scared," he says as Jonny's big hands slide to his naked ass.

"No?"

"I know you wouldn't let anyone touch me."

"Damn right." Jonny tucks a curl behind his ear, a grim look on his face. "You don't have to be scared. The guys just have to be a little more careful, and I'll make sure we're being even more discreet about our plans. Seabs suggested flying out to see Crosby. He's been successful these last couple years, has increased his influence again, and he still owes me one."

"Be careful."

" _You_ be careful," Jonny says softly. "Get some of the guys to accompany you if you want to go out, okay? Brinsky or Stromer can go with you."

"'kay."

"Good," Jonny says, sounding satisfied. His palm slides along the globe of Patrick's ass, squeezing roughly. "Now kiss me."

Patrick's hole is still aching from when Jonny was mercilessly pounding into him just half an hour ago, but it greedily clenches around the finger he forces into it, and Patrick whimpers into Jonny's mouth. Jonny might tease him for being easy for it, but the animalistic lust in Jonny's eyes and the fierce roughness of his movements makes up for all the mocking.

-

So Patrick starts being more careful. Jonny is constantly out of the house or in the meeting room. Men are coming and leaving, and Patrick almost has to beg for five minutes alone with Jonny.

"You look hot," he says one morning, voice heavy and rough with sleep. Jonny's breakfast tray is on the bedside table, a half-eaten bowl of oatmeal waiting to be cleaned by the housekeeper. Jonny is in front of the mirror, tightening the tie around his neck. When Patrick speaks, he turns around, eyes shining, but there are the same dark circles under his eyes that Patrick's getting used to seeing.

"Sleep, sweetheart. It's too early to be up."

"Why are you up then?"

"Saader, Kirby, and I have some stuff to sort out."

That sounds—alarming.

"Stuff?"

"Sleep, Patrick."

Patrick pushes himself up, but his attempt of a glare seems to be more amusing than intimidating considering that Jonny only chuckles dryly.

"I’ll be back later."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

The sigh coming over Jonny's lips sounds a lot like the one Patrick's mother used whenever he refused to do his homework as a kid.

"After dinner, I think. Get the housekeeper to cook something you like, and I'll help myself to the leftovers later. The rookies are around so you can go out if you feel like it. Kirby's going to come with us, but Stromer and—"

"I am not one of your whores," Patrick cuts in. "You can't just buy me some pretty jewelry and pay me to be silent and not ask any questions."

"I don't have any whores," Jonny answers, irritated. He closes the last button of his shirt, but his movements are less smooth now. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he tears his eyes away from Patrick's face to watch himself smooth out a wrinkle from his jacket. It takes longer than necessary to look back at Patrick.

"A lot of the guys do," he says once Jonny's meeting his eyes. "You used to have a bunch of them."

Now, Jonny smirks, stepping to the edge of the bed with swift motions, the grip of his hands on Patrick's face surprisingly gentle

"Guess I don't need them anymore. You keep me occupied."

"Do I? 'Cause it's been forever since you last fucked me."

A flash of want twinkles in his eyes, but it's just the briefest moment before Jonny sighs.

"You're right." He chases Patrick's lips for a kiss, still refusing to let go of his chin. It's not very gentle now, no soft nip at Patrick's lip, no gentle swipe of his tongue. It's open-mouthed and hungry, quick and dirty. Patrick lets himself be kissed, but he doesn't move his arms to put them on Jonny's shoulders, neck, or biceps. Instead, he keeps them folded across his chest, kissing back with a little resistance that Jonny can easily tell is mostly fake.

"Sweetheart," Jonny whispers, pulling back with a kiss to Patrick's neck. "I mean it, enjoy your day. I promise I'll be all yours tomorrow."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

Jonny laughs humorlessly. "I deserve that, eh?"

"Yes, Jon. You deserve that."

The heavy feeling around his chest loosens up when Jonny brushes his lips across Patrick's forehead and sighs into this hair. He smells like fresh Cologne and laundry detergent.

"Tomorrow," he says, and it sounds like a promise.

-

Jonny doesn't come home that day. First, Patrick thinks they got stuck in traffic or something so he waits patiently. They don't do fancy dress-ups or candlelight dinners or anything like that. But he let in a nice warm bath, knowing that Jonny can use the relaxation, and he's in one of Jonny's button-downs, well aware of how possessive Jonny gets when Patrick wears them around the house.

One hour of waiting turns into two. It's not like Jonny never runs late, but he usually sends a text or makes sure to have someone call Patrick, but now Jonny won't answer his phone, and it's hard not to picture him shot dead in some shitty suburb or wherever he's been going lately. Saader's phone is dead too, and Patrick has to call Brinsky who calls Kuby who can give them Kirby's number. The whole process takes forever.

"I'll come over," Brinsky says after he's finished spelling out Kirby's number. "Stromer will come, too." He hesitates, clearly aiming for a neutral tone. "Just in case that—yeah, just so you're not on your own."

Patrick's never on his own here. Even if it wasn't for the housekeeper, there are always guards around, but Patrick barely knows them, and he'd appreciate some company. Brinsky and Stromer can be a lot, but they're good kids.

"Thanks," he says on an exhale.

Kirby won't pick up his phone either. Patrick's ready to throw his own brand-new phone to the wall by the time Brinsky and Stromer let themselves into the house. Maybe he should have thrown on a hoodie over the white button-down that puts his nipples obnoxiously on display. But the kids barely bat an eye so he shifts his attention to other, more important things.

"I'm not sure who to call anymore," he says, flopping down on the bed. It's getting harder and harder to breathe through the rising panic inside of him. Jonny might be an entitled asshole, but he would never let Patrick wait and, even worse, worry about him.

"Maybe we could—" Stromer starts, cutting himself off when his phone rings. Patrick pretends to miss the significant glance that the two exchange as Stromer fumbles for the device.

"Hi," he says a little warily, face shifting to something concerned. "Oh hey—yeah—that's—oh, yeah. Right." No matter how hard Patrick tries, he can't read anything in Stromer's face. When he realizes that he's nibbling at the nail of his thumb, he drops his hand only to catch himself chewing on another finger two seconds later. Fuck.

"We're here already," Stromer says at that moment. "Yeah, of course, he is. That's—yeah. Sounds good. Right. We'll get going. Keep me updated. Yeah, sure. Right. Bye."

"What's up?" Patrick demands before Stromer has had a chance to hang up. "Where are we going?"

"Sharpy's," Stromer says absently, typing away on his phone. "Brinksy, Saader said to come as soon as possible and take Patrick. It will be the fastest to drive ourselves."

God, Patrick's head is spinning.

"Why are we going?" he repeats, already grabbing his phone and keys. He's still dressed in Jonny's shirt and barely has the time to grab his coat. "What's—what's going on? Where's Jonny?"

Stromer shakes his head as he ushers them out of the room and into the garage and closest car. Usually, they have drivers and Patrick's never seen any of the guys behind a wheel, but Stromer enters the front seat like he knows what he's doing, and Patrick has other things to freak out about than Stromer's driving ability.

"We're going to Sharpy's," Stromer finally repeats patiently, backing up. "There's been a shooting. Saader's fine, Kirby and Jonny were hit."

A gasp fills the car. It takes a few seconds to realize that the sound is coming out of Patrick's own mouth.

Jonny was shot.

The houses and trees seem to be flying by, blurring in front of his eyes. He's not sure if that's on him, or if they're really going that fast. His ears are thrumming like he's standing by a busy highway with cars flying by just inches next to him.

"How are they doing?" he hears Brinksy say from very far away.

He should be the one to ask that question.

"They'll live," Stromer says, glancing into the mirror. "They're checking on his wounds right now. Sharpy says the doctor is on his way, but everyone is safe for now. We'll join them to figure out the next steps. I think Seabs is sorting everything out right now, and he wants everyone out of the house, and Sharpy's place will be safe."

By the time they reach Sharpy's, Patrick still hasn't said a word. He can't get the tremor of his hands under control and almost stumbles behind Stromer and Brinksy to the main entrance of the Sharp house.

"He wants to see you," is what Sharpy first tells him, nodding in the direction of the stairs. "The doctor finished seeing him five minutes ago. He's supposed to be resting, but I doubt he'll fall asleep before he's seen you."

Patrick can feel everyone's eyes follow him as he makes his way up, clinging to the handrail. There's no need to knock on the door, but he still does, relieved to hear that Jonny's voice is quiet but firm in response.

He looks pale but maybe that's just the weird nightgown that he's dressed in—his eyes are as fierce as ever as they land on Patrick.

"Sweetheart, you're here."

Patrick swallows around the lump in his throat. Of course he is, where else would he be?

"I thought you were dead," he blurts out.

Now, Jonny's going pale. "I'm fine. I'm fine. It's just a grazed shot—just my arm. The doctor says it'll fully heal, that I got really lucky. I was—did no one tell you?"

Tears are prickling at the corner of Patrick's eyes. Tears of relief, of worry and anger. But Jonny's alive, thank god, and he's in one piece.

"They should have told you," Jonny says bitterly. "You shouldn't have had to worry. I'm sorry, I'll make sure they'll—"

"But it's not their fault, is it?" Patrick interrupts, voice wavering. "They didn't know. Stromer and Brinsky came right away. They started asking around when I couldn't get a hold of you. And Saader called, too. It's not—they didn't do anything wrong. Don't push this on them. I asked you. I fucking asked you just this morning. They weren't the ones always leaving me behind without knowing what you're up to."

It's quiet enough in the room that he can hear people talking downstairs. Just the soft murmur of a discussion, people talking over each other without yelling or screaming until Jonny lets out a soft, deep breath.

"Come here," Jonny says after a few seconds, his face softening when Patrick folds his arms across his chest without moving. "Please."

He pats the space next to him, shifting a little even though the king-sized bed is big enough to offer space for both of them. Patrick lets him wait for a moment even though they both know that he'd never not come when Jonny asks. Other than his left biceps, he looks fine, but Patrick still makes sure to be careful before curling into his right side.

For a few minutes, Jonny strokes his healthy hand up and down Patrick's arm. Then, he kisses the tip of his nose. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Patrick sobs quietly. He tries muffling it by hiding his face in Jonny's chest, but Jonny's already wiping his thumb along his jaw.

"I was so fucking scared. So fucking scared, Jonny."

Jonny's lucky he's injured or Patrick might punch him. Or kiss him. He's still not sure.

Jonny lets him cry into his shoulder, pressing his face into Patrick's hair, stroking along his back. He makes soothing noises, and Patrick hates himself for being calmed down by it when he's still angry, pissed that he still needs the reassurance.

"I'm sorry," Jonny repeats gently. "I'm so sorry. You're right. We should talk."

"Now?"

"Of course now."

"No," Patrick forces himself to say, wiping at his eyes. "The doctor says you need to rest."

"Well, I don't care what the doctor says."

"See?" Despite the situation, the corner of his mouth twitches. "That's the fucking problem. You never listen to what people tell you."

Patrick's never seen Jonny's face so blank, but just a second later, Jonny barks out a surprised laugh. "Alright. I'm listening now, sweetheart."

"Well, you're a fucking moron for starters."

If anything, Jonny looks amused. "Noted."

"Did you take painkillers?"

"Yes."

"Did the doctor say you're okay to stay here?"

"Yep."

"Have you eaten?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, you should eat anyways."

"'kay, sweetheart."

"Do you have water?"

"No."

"I'll get some for you. Anything else you need?"

Jonny gently scratches the tip of his fingers over Patrick's scalp. "Is Seabs here?"

"He might be on his way. I'm not sure."

"Can you find out? And maybe get an update on how Kirby's doing? Tell them to let me know as soon as possible about all the new developments. I need to know what's happening."

That makes Patrick frown, but he nods anyway. No point in arguing now.

"Kiss me," Jonny says, more pleading than demanding. That's new.

He gets just a small peck to the corner of his mouth which clearly isn't what Jonny was hoping for, but he still looks oddly entertained so Patrick ignores him to find food, water, and the updates Jonny's been asking for.

"Seabs will be here in an hour," Sharpy says. "He's sorting it out. Saader's on the phone with him. Kirby should be asleep. He's been hit the worst, but even he got lucky. Might take a while for his thigh to be back to normal, but the doctor says it's fine. Seabs volunteered to handle everything until Jonny's good to go. But I can send Seabs upstairs for them to discuss everything as soon as he gets here."

"No," Patrick says maybe a little too rushed. Sharpy raises an eyebrow, and he smiles back in return, hoping he looks confident. "Jonny doesn't want to be bothered for now. Just—run it all by Seabs. That'll be fine."

He can't blame Sharpy for raising the other eyebrow as well. It's not like Jonny to sit back and let others handle the business. But Sharpy nods without further questions and Patrick hurries to get back up with Jonny's bowl of soup.

-

It's way past dinner time. It's been dark outside for hours now but, despite his lack of appetite, Jonny finishes the entire bowl and empties the glass of water that Patrick hands over. He hasn't been as pale as Patrick originally thought, but his cheeks still gain more of their rosy color back. After dinner, he moves back into a lying position and his eyes catch on Patrick's clothing.

"Is that my shirt?"

"Yeah."

"Why are you wearing my clothes?"

Patrick shrugs, turning his face away. "Because you like it when I do. Because I was waiting for you. Figured we could have a bath, maybe talk and sleep in tomorrow."

The hand that was fiddling with the top button of his shirt stills, Jonny's eyes focused on his own fingers as he brushes them across Patrick's cheek.

"Don't," Patrick says quietly before he can open his mouth. "Just—be quiet and let us sleep."

Miraculously, Jonny obeys. He sighs and lets his eyes fall shut, waiting for Patrick to get comfortable on his chest. It's soothing to fall asleep to his heartbeat.

-

Jonny finally tells him everything about the shooting one day later. They were accompanying a transport into the city when they got shot at. Jonny, of course, is determined to find out whoever is behind the attack.

"Backes?" Patrick asks carefully, helping him into an old, washed-out shirt without ripping the gauze pad off. Jonny's face remains neutral, but Patrick doesn't miss his wince when he forces his arm into the shirt.

"Maybe," Jonny says grimly. "Or Thornton. I wouldn't put it past either of them. Or maybe Zetterberg."

"A man your age shouldn't have managed to make that many enemies already."

Jonny sighs defeated. "I don't like it when you have a point."

"Well, thank you."

"Did Seabs arrive?"

"He got here yesterday, but don't even think about going down to talk to him. You need to rest."

Jonny's face twitches, his brows furrowed, but maybe Patrick manages a look that's stern enough because he nods in surrender. Exhaling, Patrick nods back and disappears into the adjoining bathroom to wash out Jonny's old shirt. The bloodstains likely won't disappear, but he can always give it a try.

-

Seabs allows everyone to go home a few days later. Jonny's arm is still in a sling. The only reason for that is that he doesn't want to upset Patrick, no doubt, but Patrick takes it if it means that Jonny's not loading his gun to hunt down whoever he suspects is tampering with his businesses. He's been nursing Jonny the past week which mostly means glaring him down every time he tries to leave the bed and watching him with hawk eyes during his sessions with the physiotherapist.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Jonny whispers when he sets down a tray with steaming food and fluffs the pillows up.

His healthy hand finds Patrick's hip, pulling him in and on the mattress, sliding under Patrick's shirt to rest on the small of his back. He's been pretty gentle lately, probably out of guilt, but Patrick's not complaining. Brushing his lips across Jonny's, he curls up in the empty space next to him.

"Seabs is going to come over tomorrow," Jonny says, one hand holding the fork, the other still touching Patrick. "Just to discuss a few things. Care to join us?"

"Really?"

"Mm," Jonny replies, pushing a piece of sweet potato into his mouth. "I think you should have some more information on our deals and business. Just in case anything happens, I need to know that you'd be fine. Emergency protocol worked well last time, but it can't hurt if you have some more information. And you're right. It's not fair to leave you behind and in the dark."

Patrick rarely worries about himself. There have been a few serious conversations about the fact that every person around Jonny is in permanent danger, but he knows how good the Hawks are, that there's no better protection than the guys around them.

But Jonny got shot, and they easily could have gotten killed. That's what is so scary. Jonny leaving the house and never coming back.

Patrick nods with a shaky inhale and shifts his focus back to ushering Jonny into eating more food. Sometimes he wonders how an ordinary Buffalo boy ended up like this.

-

That Jonny and even Seabs trust Patrick enough to let him in on their meetings is mind-blowing. He feels out of place the first few times, the conversation making him feel dumb and small, but he slowly starts understanding more details. There’s not a lot of new information regarding the attack. Seabs and Jonny have their guys on the case, but it sounds like it will take a while to find out more.

It's not like Patrick is able to forget about the attack—the new scar on Jonny's body is an unpleasant reminder—but enough time has passed that he's caught by surprise by Seabs and Jonny insisting that he should learn some self-defense.

"But why would someone go after me?" he asks quietly, staring at the knife on the table in front of him. "I mean—there's more than a handful of guys that could offer more information than I could. And I barely leave the house without someone accompanying me anyways. There are easier targets."

"Easier for sure," Seabs agrees. "But not more valuable. You make Jonny susceptible to blackmail."

That's—a good point.

Slowly, he grabs the knife, ignoring Jonny's wince as he runs his finger along the sharp blade. It's lighter than expected and looks innocent on his open palm. Every single Hawk would need just one stab to kill someone, but it's hard to imagine such a little thing to be so dangerous. It's hard to imagine himself ever having the guts to it.

-

Duncs is the one who teaches him how to use the knife. Patrick's not sure if he'd ever stand a chance against someone, and any attacker would probably just point a gun to his head anyways, but Jonny insists that he learns a few moves, and if it makes Jonny feel more secure, he'll take the practice.

Jonny stumbles into them one time as he's practicing. Patrick doesn't realize it at first, but Duncs takes a step back, eyes focused on a point behind Patrick. When he turns around, Jonny's leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, dark eyes focused on Patrick.

"I think we're done for today," Duncs says, lowering the arm he had raised to simulate defending himself. "Good job."

He squeezes Patrick's shoulder for a second, nodding in Jonny's direction as he passes him by, the door falling shut behind him with a soft noise.

Jonny waits another second before stepping further into the room, his eyes shamelessly sliding along Patrick's body before he cups Patrick's neck, tugging him in. Jonny's arms feel like home, and Patrick's muscles loosen up instantly as he nuzzles his face into the curve of Jonny's neck. His chest is broad, muscles rippling when he wraps his free arm around Patrick. Grabbing the knife in the process, he puts it down on a nearby coffee table, humming into Patrick's hair.

"You're so beautiful." Jonny easily lifts him up, carrying him to the couch at the fireplace. His eyes are so intent, focused solely on Patrick as he unbuttons Patrick's shirt, slow but steady. There's so much in his eyes, lust and desire, softness, and safety. He's intense with everything he's doing, and he always shifts his whole attention to anyone he talks to. It's always like Patrick's the only person in the entire world when he's with Jonny.

Jonny gets him out of his shirt and pants, breath hitching barely audibly when Patrick immediately draws his legs back. His hands are curled around his own ankles, letting him feel the slight tremble of his own body. He's half-hard by just Jonny looking at him. Even when he runs his fingertips along Patrick's thighs, the touch feather-light, Patrick's body reacts immediately.

"Oh," he makes a punched-out sound, not more than an exhale. It makes Jonny chuckle, but it's a little breathless, too.

He's in grey sweatpants that do nothing to hide the growing bulge of his crotch, but Jonny makes no attempt of covering it when he folds to his knees. The way he raises his eyebrow screams smug arrogance that Patrick shouldn't find appealing, but he does, moaning at the first kiss that is being pressed to his hole. No one busy eating someone else out should look as unbothered as Jonny as he licks a broad stripe along Patrick's hole.

Jonny would never admit it out loud, but he loves doing this, watching Patrick fall apart on his tongue, teasing him until he's a begging, shaking mess. Patrick can feel the moans he's trying to bite back, can feel them echo through his body, sending tingles from his hole to his belly.

He comes after forever, after he's begged Jonny countless times to finally let him come. It washes him over in waves, his own hand working feverishly along his cock. Jonny's licks him through it, altering between little flicks of his tongue and sucking kisses, and Patrick's still busy panting through the orgasm, his eyes squeezed shut when Jonny starts fucking him through the aftermath.

It's even more intense. That feeling of being so filled up and stuffed, the desperation in Jonny's movements, the harsh snap of his hips against Patrick's. It's different than when he usually fucks Patrick. Jonny's demanding and bossy, rough and fierce, but they both usually give as much as they take. Now though it's Patrick giving and giving, letting Jonny have every little piece of him, his body melting into Jonny's willingly. He's been Jonny's from the very first moment, but he's never been as aware of it. Sometimes it's still scary how intense everything is.

A gasp leaves Jonny's mouth, he fucks into Patrick a few more times before he makes a punched-out noise and goes limb. The couch is too small for both of them, but it doesn't bother Jonny as he leans forward, blanketing Patrick's body with his, letting him take all his weight. Something fuzzy and warm spread inside of Patrick when he gets to tuck his face into the curve of Jonny's shoulder.

-

It's suspiciously quiet in the weeks after the attack.

"I don't think they expected Jon to be there himself," Kirby says when they visit him at Sharpy's where he's still recovering. It's going well as far as Patrick can tell, but it's a reminder of how lucky Jonny got. The scar on his biceps is still an unfamiliar one, makes Patrick startle every time Jonny undresses, but at least he's not struggling to walk stairs.

Brinksy hums from the foot of the bed where he's flipping through the pages of one of the magazines Kirby has stacked at his bedside table.

"It might be a good thing that they ran into Jonny," Stromer adds, huffing when Patrick narrows his eyes. "No, it's just—everyone knows he's not going to let that slide. That he's just waiting to get them back. And that's dangerous for anything they might be planning. I think that's why it's quiet right now."

"Or they're just waiting to finish the jo—oh," Brinsky says, cutting himself when Stromer gives him a pointed look along with a vague gesture in Patrick's direction. Brinsky has the decency to look guilty. "I mean—probably not. We did improve security."

"Thanks, man," Patrick says weakly, ignoring Kirby's attempt to hide a smirk. They're lucky that Jonny believes that they are the future of the Hawks or some shit like that. Usually, Jonny's great at judging people but these jerks make Patrick wonder sometimes.

"Anyways," Stromer says after a few seconds, his voice full of confidence. "Jonny knows what he's doing."

-

Maybe Stromer has a point about the cause of the calm. Either way—it doesn't matter. It stays quiet, and Patrick feels less tense every time Jonny kisses him goodbye. His stomach isn't clenching as badly every time a call goes to voicemail, when has to wait a few minutes for a text promising that Jonny will call back as soon as he can.

"We're thinking it was Backes," Jonny says after coming back from a weekend trip with Seabs.

"And how does that change anything?"

Jonny raises an eyebrow, tossing his tie to the side. "It changes that I know who tried to kill me." A sarcastic smile makes its way to his face. "I thought you'd be a little more interested, sweetheart."

Patrick huffs out a small noise when Jonny crawls into bed with him, kissing the corner of his mouth, his forehead, and nose.

"I am interested."

"Mm," Jonny replies softly, still smirking.

"How can you be sure?"

Jonny got rid of his tie, but he's still in a suit and sits back up to unbutton his shirt. When Patrick pushes his hands to the side, he makes a small noise, letting his head fall back. It's tempting to kiss the long line of his exposed throat, but Patrick concentrates on his shirt, working his way down as he opens button after button.

"Sid pulled some strings, asked around a bit, paid a few people."

The thin fabric of the shirt falls to the side, exposing nothing but tanned, smooth skin and muscles that Patrick runs his palms over. Jonny watches with half-lidded eyes, looking all comfortable and relaxed. There's not a lot of people on this earth that are allowed to see him like this, so vulnerable, and Patrick shivers slightly at Jonny's appreciative hum.

"So what are you planning?"

"Nothing. For now."

He pauses, his hands on Jonny's belt. Usually, Jonny's not very good at doing nothing.

"I'm being careful," Jonny adds softly, cupping his neck. "Please don't worry."

"I worry as much as I want."

"Well, you shouldn't." Jonny hauls him up and into his lap, running his thumb along Patrick's lip."I know what I'm doing."

"So does Backes, probably."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't praise the guy who tried and _failed_ to kill me."

"Sorry," Patrick brushes his lips across Jonny's. "Just—promise me you're not going to go after him just to get revenge. Don't put yourself into unnecessary danger."

It's a lot to ask from someone who lives Jonny's life. Jonny's shit at saying no to Patrick, but he half-expects a rueful smile along with a rejection.

To his surprise, Jonny sighs. "I promise, sweetheart."

-

The Hawks manage to strike back a little while after. Jonny's not involved in it. Patrick would know because Jonny's busy fucking him into the sheets when they get the call. It's a sheer coincidence that Saader and Shawzy recognized a few of Backes' men entering a pub in the outskirts and were able to take the chance.

"What were you even doing in the area?" Jonny asks skeptically, his eyes narrowed. He called a spontaneous emergency meeting so all he managed was to throw on sweatpants and an old bathrobe. His hair is messy and his lips are still swollen. It's a hot look on him, but it also makes him look like a maniac as he's pacing around the conference room like an egocentric madman.

"Nothing," Shawzy says, looking smug. He has a cut under his eye and dried clumps of blood in his beard. Saader looks a little better, but Patrick didn't miss the way he limped into the room earlier.

"Just trying to see if we could see something interesting in his area," Saader says, looking equally as satisfied. "We had no idea how interesting."

"How many people were in there?"

"We saw maybe 10 walking in and out while we waited for the guys to arrive. When we attacked, there were actually 15, maybe 20. Mostly unarmed and they had no idea we were coming. It wasn't the biggest pub, but we destroyed a good amount of drugs they had in the basement."

"More than they stole from our transport?"

"For sure," Shawzy says, and Saader nods along.

Jonny looks grim as he nods back. "Good job, guys."

-

His mood is ridiculously good for the next few days. He takes Patrick shopping without complaining about the unnecessary things Patrick gets that he would normally grumble about.

"We could go on vacation," he says that very same day. "Just the two of us. Wherever you'd like to go. I was thinking two weeks, maybe somewhere warm. Cabo could be nice."

It's rare to travel or even be in the house with no one but Jonny around. It's unsafe to even walk into the city without one or two of the guys following and watching them, ready to intervene at the slightest hint of danger.

"Just us?" Patrick repeats, rolling over in bed. "Are you sure?"

"About wanting you for myself for a bit? Quite sure."

It's raw and genuine, and Patrick busies himself with running his fingers along Jonny's naked chest.

"Is it safe to go?"

"Since it's been so quiet lately, I'd say so. Backes is going to have other problems after the kids busted his pub. And Zetterberg or Thornton haven't been around in ages. Someone can come with us if you'd prefer that. I just figured—"

"No," Patrick interrupts, slowly working his way up to Jonny's neck, kissing his cheek. "No, I'd love that." He swallows, probably smiling stupidly. "Cabo sounds nice."

"'kay," Jonny mutters back. "Soon."

Patrick nods, breath hitching in his throat when Jonny pushes two fingers into his still lubed up hole without any warning.

"Ride me," he says and Patrick shakily scrambles up, already sinking down on his cock.

-

He spends the first week of this vacation with Jonny's dick inside of him. It's pretty amazing. The house is huge with a giant patio, a pool, and access right to the beach.

"Only the best for you," Jonny says mockingly, but they can both hear the truth in those words.

It's great, being around Jonny every hour of the day, enjoying his attention without having to share any of it. With Jonny, he doesn't need time for himself. They barely argue, and if Patrick wants to have downtime and read or watch a series, it's nicer when Jonny's there, running his fingers along Patrick's back or stroking his calf or even just being in the same room, a calming, steady presence in the background.

They spend most of their time on the beach until Patrick wakes up from a nap to the sun burning down on him, his face feeling hot and tingly. When he looks down at himself, he finds his skin flushed a deep red, the first layer of skin starting t0 peel at his shoulders. Patrick retreats into the shades of their patio and throws on a shirt, but the aloe gel Jonny rubs into his skin later does little to soothe the pain.

"You're staying here," Jonny says in that voice that leaves no room for arguments when he gets ready to grab some groceries. "I'm not letting you walk around outside like that."

Patrick rolls his eyes. Jonny has no problem getting into gunfights and deems it perfectly safe to mess with the most dangerous men in the country, but one sunburn makes him think Patrick is going to get skin cancer if the sun ever catches another glimpse of him.

Jonny kisses the pout off his face, clearly amused. He's shirtless, all evenly tanned skin on display. "Won't be long."

-

So Patrick spends his time waiting. He's not even doing anything specific, just fucking around on his phone, but he loses track of time. By the time he hears steps downstairs, it could have been ten minutes or two hours ago that Jonny left. He immediately pockets his phone and gets off of the bed, opening the door.

"Jonny, I—"

He freezes.

It's not Jonny at the other end of the door. It's not Jonny who's pointing a gun right at his head.

Oh fuck. He's screwed.

Patrick goes very still, feeling like his eyes might pop out of his head any second. It's hard to remember how to let the air in his lungs leave his body.

"One wrong move," the guy behind the gun says slowly. "And I'll pull the trigger."

He wouldn't have to say that for Patrick to hold still. He swallows and nods, wondering if he's like—supposed to lift his hands or something. There's nothing shaky or unsure about the way the guy holds the gun. No trembling in his hand or finger. God, one sneeze, and Patrick might have his brain blown out.

He swallows again.

Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

"Hands off the doorknob," the guy snarls. "Hold them up where I can see and walk back into the room."

Well, that answers that question. Finally exhaling, Patrick withdraws his hand, slowly, hating the way it's shaking as he does. He holds up both hands, searching for any sign of discontent in the guy's face. He looks grim, bushy wild eyebrows, and a scruffy beard decorating his face. His deep-set eyes have a fierce tone to them, a piercing green that makes him look wild and dangerous even if it wasn't for the gun he's pointing at Patrick. He narrows his eyes but doesn't look upset so Patrick slowly takes a few steps back, never tearing his eyes away from the other man's face.

He speaks English with an accent, still noticeable but barely there. It might be European, but Patrick couldn't pinpoint it to save his life.

"Good." The intruder doesn't bother closing the door as he follows him further into the room. He makes a small gesture with the gun, yanking it to the side to point at the small wooden chair in the corner.

Patrick flinches, willing his racing heart to slow down.

"Get the chair."

He moves on instinct, still slow and cautious, making sure that the intruder has time to stop him with words instead of firing the gun right away. His hands are still trembling, a sign of weakness he can't help no matter how badly he tries to fake his composure. His brain is all foggy, his body numb like it's not even him that's moving. That he's not the one facing a gun right now. He needs to get it together, to recollect the few things he's heard the guys say about kidnappings and being held at gunpoint, but it's like there's nothing there, not a single thought on his mind.

"Sit."

He does, still holding up his hands, and his own posture—every single muscle in his body tensed and trembling—is a stark contrast to the way the gunman relaxes a little. He doesn't lower the gun, still keeps it pointed at Patrick's temple, but he looks less ready to fire.

"Don't move," the guy repeats. "Or we're going to have a problem. Got that?"

Since he doesn't trust his voice, Patrick nods, more tension leaving the gunman's body.

"Good," he snaps, and—that's that for now.

Patrick keeps his hands in the air, eyes on the guy and gun. He has never seen one so close. The barrel looks weirdly huge like a black hole that seems to suck him in. The Blackhawks carry guns frequently, and Patrick's seen them several times tucking them into their holders, grabbing them from and placing them on tables, but he's never held one. Or had it pointed at his face, forced to stare right back at the barrel.

The knife Jonny made him carry is safely in his bag, and even Jonny never wanted him to get close to guns.

The thought of Jonny clears the fog in his head a little. Patrick inhales, resisting the temptation to close his eyes. The gun won't disappear if he doesn't see it anymore—this is not a game of peekaboo—and he needs to keep his eyes on the guy even if he's helpless right now.

There's no way there's only one guy here. This is no random burglar who stumbled upon him. He would’ve gone through their bags, grabbed their cash and jewelry, and run already. This is someone planning something and waiting for whatever that is. Someone who knows very well who Patrick is and who he’s with. And no one aware of that would just come here on their own. There must be other people somewhere, maybe downstairs in the house or—what if they're looking for Jonny? What if they're with him right now? Holding another gun to his head, maybe a knife to his throat. Taking him somewhere to get information out of him. Or what if—

No, Patrick thinks desperately. He can't. Can't allow his mind to go there if he wants to keep his sanity. But suddenly, the gun in front of him seems ridiculous compared to the scenarios in his head.

He takes a deep breath of air. "What do you want?"

What was supposed to be firm and unimpressed, comes out small, his voice cracking at the end.

The guy glances over, looking almost bored. "You'll find out." He waves the gun again, smirking at Patrick's flinch. "Now shut up."

He would fire, no doubt. Maybe not now. There’s a reason why he's waiting here with Patrick. He still remembers what Seabs said, about him being valuable for blackmailing Jonny. If they have Jonny, they'll need Patrick alive to get information out of him. But if Patrick’s not obeying, the guy wouldn't hesitate to hurt him, scare him enough to make him shut up, and maybe finish him off later.

Oh god, this is so bad. If only Jonny was there. If only Patrick could know that he's okay because—he can't finish that thought. It's like someone's strangling him instead of holding a gun to his head.

After a while—seconds? Minutes? Hours? He couldn't tell—the guy takes a look at his trembling hands, making an impatient sound.

"Take 'em down."

Patrick hadn't realized the ache in his muscles until he's moving them again. It's like little needles are poking into the skin.

"In your lap where I can see them," the guy adds with a click of his tongue when he hesitates.

More time passes after that. If only there was a clock on the wall somewhere. It would give him some kind of security, make him a little less helpless, to know how much time's passing. Eventually, though, the guy tenses back up, lifting his gun and narrowing his eyes. For one horrifying moment, Patrick thinks he's going to pull the trigger, kill him right there and then, but then he hears it, too.

The sound of a key in the lock of the door, the door falling shut behind someone. Jonny. There's no one else with a key. Relief washes him over like the water of a shower hitting his body after a long day, but then he freezes in terror.

Jonny has no idea what's happening. He's walking straight into danger, unarmed and clueless, unable to do anything. Once he realizes what's going on, it'll be too late. Unless Patrick can give him some kind of sign. Make a noise that'll let Jonny know someone's wrong.

The gunman gives him a pointed look and a raised eyebrow, no need to use words to convey the message. One word, one move, and Patrick will be in trouble. There's no way he can warn Jonny without making it a thousand times worse.

Patrick's stomach drops when Jonny enters the room. He looks happy and relaxed, a smile on his face that vanishes instantly as he assesses the situation. Patrick's never felt so helpless in his life, watching Jonny's face drop.

He's better at dealing with his shock than Patrick. Patrick knows him well enough to see every little emotion in his face. Doesn't miss the surprise and terror as his eyes widen, can see the dawning guilt when his eyes find Patrick's, can feel the hatred and anger radiating off of him. For the tiniest second, it's all there, written all over Jonny's face, but then he puts up the façade of the tough guy, clenching his jaw, putting an almost bored casualness into his eyes.

If Patrick wasn't scared shitless, he'd have the time to find it hot.

"Zetterberg," Jonny says in that monotone voice of his.

Oh. Maybe Patrick should have figured that out.

Someone else steps into the room behind Jonny. He's taller than all of them which would make him look like a threat even without the gun he has drawn. The smirk of his lips doesn't reach his ice-blue eyes, and his head looks weirdly huge with the sides of his hair shaven which does nothing to hide his protruding ears.

The pit in Patrick's stomach only grows when the new guy nudges the barrel of his gun against the back of Jonny's head. If Jonny heard someone approach, he didn't expect the gun to be pushed against his head because he tenses up for a small moment.

"Hello, Toews."

Now, Jonny stills, and he can't keep the blank expression on his face. Then, he shifts, making a small noise.

"Backes. Quite the party here."

Backes' smirk only grows. He makes a nodding motion with his head, and Jonny takes a step into the room, the gun never leaving his head.

"Pretty boytoy you got yourself."

Jonny's eyes flicker over to Patrick, and he's tempted to grimace in response, but it seems like a stupid thing to do so he hopes he can get at least close to imitating the blankness of Jonny's face.

Jonny grits his teeth but doesn't turn around to face Backes. "Since when are you guys working together?"

"Doesn't matter," Zetterberg says swiftly. "Arms up, Toews."

Jonny huffs but obeys. His hands don't shake or tremble, and he's not intently focused on the gun like Patrick has been these past—he still has no idea how much time has passed. Instead, Jonny's eyes are searching the room. Not in a panicked, frantic way, more like he's analyzing the situation, filing every detail of the room away. At least one of them knows what he's doing here.

"What do you want?" Jonny asks quietly. "Putting me out doesn't change a single thing. You know that, right?"

"Oh, don't sell yourself short."

The corner of Jonny's mouth twitches. "Well, thank you."

"As you can imagine, we've had people follow you for a while now," Backes says. "But we didn't think you'd make it so easy for us. Going on vacation on your own? I thought you'd be smart enough not to make rookie mistakes like that."

He almost sounds disappointed, and Jonny tenses but doesn't answer, his eyes sliding over to Patrick for the briefest moment. It's impossible to read his expression.

"Sit down, Toews."

Backes follows him with the gun as he walks over to sit on the edge of the bed, casually crossing his legs like he's in a conference with the other Hawks. Backes puts some distance between them so he's standing a few feet away, aiming the gun at Jonny's head.

"We all know you wouldn't want something to happen to the boy," Backes says casually. Zetterberg lowers the gun, but before Patrick can take a relieved breath, the barrel is pressed to his ribcage instead. If possible, he sits even more still, frozen in place, the pistol already seeming to pierce him up.

"We have a few questions we think you can help us with. Don't bullshit us, we'll know if you leave anything out or sell us a lie."

For emphasis, Zetterberg pushes the gun firmly into his ribs, and Patrick doesn't flinch—he knows better than startling Zetterberg—but he fucking hates the whimper he cannot bite back.

Jonny grits his teeth. "Got it."

"Good." Zetterberg clicks his tongue, relaxing his muscles. The gun is still touching Patrick's body but doesn't poke into his ribcage painfully anymore. Not that it changes anything, but it makes him feel a little less threatened.

"Right," Backes says. "So the kid that was with you on that transport—"

"Kirby," Jonny pretty much spits out when Backes raises an eyebrow at him.

"Right. I've never seen him around before."

Jonny offers a silent glare that would make any sane man shut up, but Backes only takes another small step closer.

"How old is he?"

"18."

The two men exchange glances, their faces unreadable, but Patrick can still sense that this is valuable information for them. Jonny has taken Kirby under his wing, and he speaks so highly of him that there's no doubt that he sees Kirby taking a key role within the group one day. Of course Zetterberg and Backes would be interested in that kind of information.

"Pretty young for someone you would take with you," Backes finally says.

"Gotta teach them young," Jonny deadpans.

Zetterberg narrows his eyes, increasing the pressure of the gun. Patrick tries and fails not to let his eyes flutter shut. When he opens them again, Jonny's looking at him sternly.

"What does Seabrook see in the kid?"

Jonny's body radiates annoyance like this is a rude worker in his local Walmart, not a guy who could kill them both with just one flick of his finger.

" _We_ ," he says with a strange emphasis on the word. "Think he's worth evaluating. Talented kid, good reflexes."

He's discussing Kirby like a special offer of the week. It's not like the Jonny Patrick knows. The Jonny who'll go out of his way to check in with every single Hawk regularly. The Jonny who'd personally accompany a transport so the guys aren't on their own, who'd go to war for every single guy.

"Right," Backes says with a humorless laugh. "The guys said something different about his reflexes after they shot him."

Jonny offers a sweet, cold smile without any further comment. Patrick's not sure if it's a good thing that Backes lets the topic go after that. He's so focused on Jonny's face now that he doesn't have the chance to concentrate on Zetterberg or Backes. It's not like he forgets that he's got the barrel of a gun poking into his ribs, but Jonny has a mesmerizing casualness to him that Patrick concentrates on. If Jonny's not freaking out, he can at least stay somewhat calm.

"Can I take my arms down?" Jonny asks with one eyebrow raised, the question almost an afterthought. "It's not the most comfortable position to have a chat."

Zetterberg and Backes exchange glances, silently making vague head gestures before Backes waves his hand. "Fine. Hands in your lap."

"Thank you," Jonny says, probably meaning it because he's weirdly polite like that even when someone threatening his life.

Patrick's hands still are where he put them, resting on his knees with his palms turned upwards. By now, his wrists are aching with the unnatural position, but he doesn't dare to move even his fingers. When Jonny rests his hands in his own lap, he's casually tapping the fingers of one hand along the wrist of the other.

"Anyways," Zetterberg says, eyes narrowed. "Why did Seabrook get involved again?"

"Involved in what?"

"Stop playing dumb."

Jonny raises an eyebrow, an annoyed huff leaving his lips. "You want me to answer questions? Fine. But I can't read your thoughts, so if you—"

Zetterberg lifts his arm, drawing the barrel of the gun slowly up Patrick's ribcage, along the line of his neck. The metal is agonizingly cold, smoother than expected somehow. Patrick can feel the hole in it, can't help tensing up, his vision going blurry at the thought of the speed with which a bullet would travel through that barrel. His mouth is dry. He doesn't want to move but can feel himself tilt his head against the soft pressure, involuntarily offering more of the line of his throat. He swallows, the noise echoing in his head along with the throbbing of his pulse.

"We're asking questions," Backes says. His voice is dangerously quiet. "And you answer. That's all you do. Any other word and—"

Zetterberg presses the gun into Patrick's skin, firm enough to hurt. If he stays like that, he'll leave marks, and Jonny can probably see very well how deep the barrel of the gun is forced into Patrick's skin. Patrick's pretty sure he whimpers, but can't hear the noise over the roaring inside his own head.

Jonny's shoulders drop. "Got it," he says, forcing the words out. His eyes don't leave Patrick's neck until the gun is withdrawn, pointed merely back at his head. He gulps down air and clenches his trembling hands.

"Seabrook," Backes says casually like their conversation was merely interrupted by a ringing phone or the doorbell. "He wasn't active for quite a while. We all thought he had handed the business over to you for good."

Surprised, Patrick looks up, but Jonny's attention has shifted to Backes, and he doesn't look back even when Patrick desperately wishes he did.

He never knew Seabs hadn't been involved at some point.

"He did," Jonny says reluctantly. There's no hiding anymore that he doesn't like sharing any of it. That this is information Backes and Zetterberg aren't supposed to know.

"What happened?"

Jonny's eyes flick over to Patrick but his face is blank like a mask covering every emotion. "Nothing exciting, I guess. He figured out he wasn't ready to step back after all."

Zetterberg clicks his tongue. It seems to be an unnerving habit of his. "It doesn't work like that though, does it? Why would you hand the power back over to him?"

"It does work like that for us," Jonny says sharply. "I didn't hand all the power over either. And I didn't mind what I handed back."

"But it was indeed Seabrook who was handling everything when you were shot?"

Jonny's jaw clenches. "Yes."

Zetterberg and Backes exchange glances, longer this time. Neither of them lowers their gun, but Zetterberg relaxes his muscles in his arm a little. Patrick barely has time to register any of that because Jonny has his head turned to the door, and before Patrick can wonder why there's that weird expression on his face, like he's trying to convey something to someone, a lot of things happen at once.

A bunch of people burst through the door, a gun is fired somewhere, and Patrick would panic that he's about to get killed when Jonny moves, so abrupt that Patrick doesn't register it. One moment he's sitting on the bed, a few feet away from Patrick's wooden chair, the next he's lunging himself forward and into Patrick's side. It's with so much force that the chair is knocked over, and Patrick hits the ground hard, toppling over before he has time to process what's happening.

If his life was a movie this would be the highlight action scene with dramatic orchestra music, a lot of quick cuts, and dramatic close-ups. If he had the chance to have one moment of his life on film to watch over and over, this would be it.

Somehow, Jonny uses the force of his jump to roll them over the floor, pulling Patrick with him like he's merely a puppet. He knows exactly where he's pulling Patrick, and they end up behind the sofa so that it's blocking them from the door. Patrick wouldn't need the hand on his neck to be smart enough to keep his head down, but Jonny presses him into a crouching position anyways, ducking with him as screams echo through the room around them.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," Jonny mutters like a mantra, his free hand wrapped around Patrick's body, moving so he's shielding the side of Patrick that isn't covered by the sofa. He's probably shaking and trembling—Jonny's thumb rubs circles into the sensitive skin of his neck, and he vaguely registers the calming noises leaving Jonny's throat.

Suddenly, someone slides behind the couch with them, and Patrick's ready to scream when he realizes it's Saader.

"I got him," Saader says just as he wraps his fingers around Patrick's wrist, his free hand handing something over to Jonny. Even over the yelling and the gunshots around, Patrick hears the clicking motion that tells him that Jonny is holding a gun now.

"How many?"

"Just the two of them," Saader says, tucking Patrick with him and out of Jonny's arms. The words leave his mouth in a rush.

Jonny slips out from behind the sofa as Saader tightens the grip on Patrick's wrist and pulls him with him, and Patrick stumbles on instinct, ducking his head until he finds himself on the balcony.

"Duck and don't move," Saader says, already letting go of Patrick and throwing one leg over the railing. He's quick and smooth as he climbs over it, holding on to the metal bars of the railing to slide down, his entire body dangling from the balcony. This way, he can make the gap between his feet and the ground smaller, but the height still seems dangerous.

"Don't—" Patrick starts anxiously just when Saader lets go and lets his body fall. It's a smooth jump, he barely tumbles as he lands, immediately lifting himself back up and waving.

"Hold on to the bars and follow me," he demands, half-yell, half-whisper.

Patrick's still crouching down even though the chair he's hiding barely offers any cover. He's not afraid of heights—has never been—but god, he can't just jump down there. No chance in hell. He'll break his neck or at least his foot and then they'll be stuck here.

A bullet breaks the glass of the door leading to the balcony. It's not aimed at him—if it was, the shooter is a shitty aimer—but he's climbing the railing before he knows it. Saader made it look so fucking smooth and effortless like it's nothing at all, but Patrick's arms and hands are shaking as he slides down, and he expects himself not to be able to hold his own weight. Then, he feels hands on his hips and legs, and Saader's voice is surprisingly close.

"You can let go. I got you."

Patrick would question it, but he's struggling to hold on, and then he's sliding to the ground already, and Saader catches him halfway. They still fall and Patrick will be bruised up tomorrow, from the fall and from Jonny crashing into him, but, ten minutes ago, he was convinced he'd die. He'll take the bruises.

"Run," Saader says, and Patrick has no idea where they’re running but who the fuck cares?

The villa is in a nice neighborhood, some kind of suburban street with no other houses around. Someone would already have called the cops on them after the gunshots if they had neighbors. When they turn around the corner, there's a car waiting, and Saader ushers him inside, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Go," he says sharply, and they take off with screeching tires. The first turn makes Patrick fall against the door, but he scrambles up, his heart and thoughts racing.

"You're okay, right?" Saader is holding onto the handle of the door while he buckles his seatbelt with his free hand. Patrick's hand is shaking so badly he can't buckle himself up so Saader has to do it for him, but he manages a nod.

"Good," Saader says on an exhale. "Fuck, thank god."

"How—where are we going?"

"The airport. Back to Chicago," the driver says, and Patrick's head snaps up.

"Stromer?"

"Long time no see," Stromer says grimly.

God, Patrick's head won't stop spinning.

"Who—" He rubs his temple and closes his eyes for a second. "How did you—"

"Seabs," Saader says quietly like that explains anything. "I think—he didn't agree with letting Jonny travel on his own. So he had a few of us follow you guys. We didn't—stalk you around town or anything like that. We stayed in the neighborhood, drove by the house once or twice, and kind of stayed in the background."

"Oh."

Saader grimaces. "We went by the villa when we saw a weird car on the other side of the street. I don't know, Shawzy had a weird feeling about it so we went in to check. And then we heard the voices so we knew something was up." He gives some kind of half-shrug. "I'm sorry it took so long. We needed some time to listen in and see what's going on. Jonny could see us from where we stood, but we needed a moment to interrupt when they were distracted."

"That was—good timing, I'd say," Patrick says weakly.

It feels like a dream. Like maybe that first gunshot hit him after all, and he's in a weird afterlife or something.

"Who’s still in there?" he adds after a second.

"Just Shawzy and Brinsky. And Jonny of course. They'll be able to handle it, it was just Zetterberg and Backes. And I'm pretty sure Shawzy hit Zetterberg's gun right away. They'll follow us as soon as they get out there."

He starts making calls after that, and Patrick doesn't mind the silence to gather his thoughts.

By the time they enter the plane, he has managed to take a few sips of water and is feeling a little less jittery. Saader's still making calls, relaying information to Seabs, and various other people. From everything he's saying, Patrick can piece a few things together. No one among the Blackhawks had an idea that Zetterberg and Backes are working together now. No one had an idea they'd be attacked, and no one's sure what exactly they were hoping to get out of Jonny.

They land to the news that everyone's doing fine, and Patrick exhales, tears of relief prickling at the corner of his eyes.

-

They arrive at the Sharp's when the sun starts to set. Abby heats up some leftovers, and Patrick eats mostly to have something to do. They tell him to go to bed and follow that up with a lecture on traumatic experiences or some bullshit like that, but he refuses to sleep until Jonny has arrived.

Everyone else has gone to bed so the house is quiet and calm when he hears voices downstairs. There's shuffling and whispers, conversations getting louder and louder as he leaves the hallway and makes his way down the stairs. Saader stayed up to handle things, and Stromer must have waited as well. They're talking to Shawzy, Brinsky, and Jonny, but Jonny shuts up in the middle of the sentence.

There are dark circles under his eyes and dried blood on his swollen bottom lip along with a small cut on his jaw. His eyes are blunt in a way Patrick's never seen them. No shimmer or darkness to them.

Patrick meant to play it cool, to collect a hug, be polite and stay for a few minutes and then drag Jonny upstairs, but Jonny steps away from the other guys, all his attention on Patrick, and he lunges at Jonny before he knows it.

"Sweetheart," Jonny breathes into his ear, and then his lips find Patrick's. He lifts him up, and Patrick gasps in shock, wrapping his legs around Jonny's waist, his arms around his neck, and kisses back.

Jonny's lips start bleeding again. Patrick can feel the blood smearing around his own lips, can feel the metallic taste on his tongue, but he doesn't pull back. He cups Jonny's face, his heart jumping at the familiar stubble of his jaws rubbing against his palms.

"I'm sorry," Jonny mutters. "I'm so sorry. So fucking sorry."

Patrick means to say something back, but he can't bring himself to break the kiss so he deepens it instead. There are people around them watching, but he couldn't care less. It's Jonny who tears his face away, pressing it against Patrick's cheek when Patrick buries his nose in the crook of Jonny's neck. He barely realizes that the sob is coming from his lips.

"Sweetheart," Jonny repeats, and his voice cracks in the end.

He sets Patrick down, his eyes are soft now when he presses his lips to Patrick's forehead. Everyone is trying hard not to stare.

Sharpy pads into the room then, holding a small tray of food and a bottle of orange juice.

"It's good to see you," he says seriously, none of his usual teasing tone to it. "Abby threw some food together. There's more in the dining room, but you should go and get some sleep."

"Thanks," Jonny says weirdly quiet as he takes the tray from Sharpy's hand. "Are you—uh—talking to Seabs?"

"I've been calling him," Saader says. "He'll arrive tomorrow. You can talk to him then, but Sharpy's right. You need to sleep. You too, Patrick."

By some kind of miracle, Jonny nods, looking defeated.

They end up sharing the food, Patrick tucked into the curve of Jonny's body, Jonny's fingers sliding along his arm. He couldn't bear not touching him right now. To remind himself that Jonny's there. In one piece and mostly unharmed.

"Did you guys—I mean—" He clears his throat. "What happened to Backes and Zetterberg?"

It doesn't matter, but he needs to know.

Jonny snorts, laughing dryly. "I didn't kill them if that's what you mean. I was considering it, but Shawzy said there's no point in taking that risk, and he's right. But I don't think they're feeling too good at the moment."

The grim satisfaction in his voice tells Patrick that he wouldn't have regretted killing them. In a way, Patrick is glad he didn't go through with it.

"I'm sorry," Jonny says, setting the tray to the side. He's not meeting Patrick's eyes, his teeth gritted, jaws clenched. His hands are curled into fists, fingers digging into the sheets. A world in which Jonny is insecure and self-conscious is not a world that feels right. "Backes did have a point," Jonny adds bitterly. "It was fucking stupid to go on our own. Not even a rookie mistake. Just moronic."

Patrick's heart sinks. Of course, Jonny would be blaming himself. Of course, he'd beat himself up.

"C'mon," he says gently. "It's not your fault."

"Of course it is." Jonny's eyes fall shut as he slides a hand into Patrick's hair. "I had a fight with Seabs about it. I never told you, I didn't want to worry you. But he pretty much begged me to take some security, and I refused. I mean—" He blows out a soft breath. "I'm glad he didn’t listen to me."

"It's not your fault," Patrick repeats, aiming for a firm tone. "I wanted to go on our own just as badly. I could have objected. And you—you saved my life."

"I was the only reason why it was in danger in the first place."

"Well, you're worth it."

Something in Jonny's face softens, lets the bitter anger disappear from his eyes.

"Saader said it was just Backes and Zetterberg in there."

Jonny sighs. "Yeah. Thank god."

"So they were watching us but didn't realize the Hawks were driving by the house? They didn't realize they were about to enter the house? They didn't think about having someone observe the front door? Sounds like they have little ground to stand on when it comes to rookie mistakes."

He startles a laugh out of Jonny's throat, a choked-off snort, his eyes crinkling at the corners like he's hiding a smile.

"Next time we need to plan an operation, I'll let you handle the planning, sweetheart."

"'kay," Patrick says like he wouldn't fuck it up and get everyone killed. He rolls over to kiss the cut on Jonny's cheek, nosing along his throat for a second. The tension is slowly leaving Jonny's body, and Patrick can tell that he's about to fall asleep. Maybe that's a good thing. They can use the rest.

"The boys—when did they arrive? Saader said you could see them."

"When they asked about Seabs. I was—I don't know, trying to buy some time. Get them to lose focus to have a chance to get you out of the way before the guys came in."

Patrick nods, and they're quiet for a while until he finds the courage to clear his throat.

"So what they said about Seabs. That he wasn't involved at some point. That was all true?"

Jonny hums. "That was before you got here. He got involved again right around the time you arrived."

"Why?"

"As I told them, he figured he wanted to be involved again."

That does sound like Seabs, and Jonny wouldn't have lied to Zetterberg and Backes when they were about to shoot Patrick—

"But why would you hand it over back to him again?" Patrick repeats Zetterberg's question. Jonny might fool Zetterberg, but Patrick knows him. He's too stubborn and proud and too much of a control freak to hand the business back over to Seabs after taking over his position.

"I mean—Seabs was always around," Jonny says. "He didn't just retire and abandon everything. But he wanted to handle more of the business again, and I genuinely didn't mind having a little more time on my hands."

Jonny lives for his stupid businesses. There's no such thing as too much work in his book.

"Why did you need more time?"

Something in Jonny's face shifts and he offers some sort of a nonchalant shrug. His hand slides up to cup Patrick's neck, and Patrick's eyes flutter shut, his body melting into Jonny's. He's got his chin braced on Jonny's chest, absently drawing patterns on the spot below his collarbone where his shirt has ridden down.

"I didn't need time." There's a hint of a smile on Jonny's lips. "I just didn't mind the extra time because you were suddenly around and I just—"

He trails off with a shrug, and something inside of Patrick's stomach goes fuzzy.

Oh.

"Oh," he says out loud, and Jonny laughs, a gentle sound leaving his lips.

"Yeah," he answers, all soft and fond.

Patrick kisses the small scar above the corner of his lip, feeling Jonny huff out a small breath. They lie like that for a while, his face at Jonny's jaw where he can hear Jonny's breathing, Jonny's hand cradling his neck, his thumb pressing down on Patrick's throat once in a while.

Eventually, Jonny makes him pull back. "Did Zetterberg do anything to you before I got there?"

If Patrick said yes, if Zetterberg had laid his hands on him, Jonny would immediately start hunting him down and change his mind about killing someone. But he is fine, other than his stupid sunburn and the bruises he got from being pushed out of Zetterberg's reach.

"Nothing happened. He barely talked until you arrived."

"I'm sorry," Jonny repeats, and Patrick doesn't know what to say to make him believe that it's not his fault. So he doesn't say anything, just pulls him into a kiss and lets Jonny stroke his hands up and down Patrick's back until they fall asleep.

-

Seabs arrives early in the morning. He sits at the Sharp's dinner table, bouncing Sadie on his lap. When Jonny appears, he gets up with the girl in his arms.

"Uncle Patty," she squeals and Patrick smiles immediately. He lets go of Jonny's hand to meet her outstretched arms, and Seabs transfers her over while Jonny comes to stop in front of him. For a moment, they blankly stare at each other, then Jonny's shoulders sag, and he rubs a hand across his neck.

"Thanks," he says, his voice small but genuine. Seabs nods in return, giving his shoulder a squeeze that loosens the rest of the tension of Jonny's muscles.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Seabs says to both of them, and that's everything that needs to be said.

-

Jonny and Seabs lock themselves into a room for the rest of the day, making plans to strike back. Now that Zetterberg and Backes are working together, they have way more territory combined than the Hawks knew of so they're looking to compensate. Patrick plays dolls with Sadie and Maddie and spends a good portion of the day convincing Sharpy that he's fine.

"Maybe you should talk to someone," Sharpy says for the hundredth time, brows furrowed.

"I’m talking to you right now."

"Not that kind of talk." Sharpy huffs. "But you're in a house full of people right now. What if you get home and you're on your own?"

"I’m not going to curl up in a corner and cry if that's what you mean."

Sharpy mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "we can hope" and Patrick chooses to ignore the comment in favor of huffing and looking for the girls. Maddie and Sadie are way more fun than their dad anyway.

-

Jonny starts being home a lot more often after the incident. It's stupid, and Patrick's told him that. He's fine. Genuinely fine. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night, and he's sweating and panting, but Jonny's there every time, ready to tuck him into his arms and kiss him until his body stops trembling.

It's not an issue when he's awake. Then he knows that there's always someone ready to step in, and he trusts each and every one of the Hawks. It's safe when they're just a few rooms away. And when Jonny's there, he feels even more secure. The guy threw himself at Patrick, ready to take the bullet for him if he couldn't manage to get them both into safety. The safest Patrick could ever be is when Jonny's with him.

"We could move," Jonny offers. "If you don't feel safe here."

If Patrick asked, he'd probably buy an entire neighborhood to make sure that there's no one else around. But Patrick shakes his head, allowing Jonny to tuck him into his arms and lap.

"It didn't happen here, you know? It was somewhere else and if anything it's just—I just feel safer here."

Ever since he moved in, the place has always felt like their shared space. It's always been home, and Patrick wouldn't leave it behind for anything in the world.

Jonny tilts his head and brushes the back of his palm along Patrick's cheek, looking at him like he can look inside Patrick's head if he only stares long and intense enough. It's easy to hold his gaze until Jonny sighs.

"Fine." His fingers find a loose curl to tuck behind Patrick's ear. "Promise me you'll let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"You are helping."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Patrick says, his voice muffled because he's already mouthing along the line of Jonny's throat. It's right there, he can't be expected not to lean in. And Jonny's fine with it if his throaty groan is any indication, his hands finding their way into Patrick's pants to cup his ass.

-

It's quiet for a long time after that. Most of the Hawks are working feverishly, but Patrick doesn't sit in on any of the meetings, and Jonny's loose and relaxed every time he comes home so he's not too concerned.

Patrick will be reading in bed and Jonny will wordlessly slip under the covers with him and just kiss him for the longest time. He'll find Patrick's yelling at the TV screen when he's playing PlayStation and he'll take the controller from him to drag him to bed instead. It's nice to have him around more often now.

Patrick still plays with the kids a lot, and he starts teaching Carter and Colton some hockey tricks. It ends in a wrestling match, Carter tackling him with a screech and of course, Colton joins in immediately. They collapse on the floor in a pile, the boys rolling over, grabbing his wrists and ankles to pin them to the ground, giggling and hollering.

That's when Jonny walks in, to find Carter sitting on Patrick's chest, Colton on Patrick's legs, the boys still screaming in victory, and Patrick joining in on their laughter. He takes a while to realize that Jonny's leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, one eyebrow arched.

Patrick relaxes his limbs into the boys' grip while the boys giggle and roll off. The hockey sticks are lying forgotten on the ground.

"Not in my bedroom," Jonny says playfully threatening.

"Uncle Patty said it's okay."

Jonny's eyebrow wanders even higher. "Uncle Patty said that?"

Both boys nod quickly, but they're still laughing, knowing Jonny too well to be intimidated by him. Jonny's face does something funny when he turns to Patrick, twisting weirdly before he smirks.

"Well, Uncle Jonny's here to break the party up before you monsters destroy my house."

"You’re no fun," Carter announces sternly, but he doesn't quite pull the insulted look off. Jonny only huffs in response, bending down and tickling his side, and Carter jumps to the side with a giggly yelp.

"No fun, eh?" Another huff. "I'll show you no fun."

And that's how both boys end up wrestling on the ground with Jonny while Patrick half-heartedly pretends to try dragging him away. They're all laughing breathlessly by the time Jonny surrenders, both kids curled into his side. Carter pushes at his shoulder one last time while Colton's already getting comfortably snuggled up in his arm. Something inside of Patrick tingles at the sight.

"'kay, I meant it. I'm breaking the party up," Jonny says, but he's still smiling stupidly. "Your fathers are waiting. Don't forget the sticks."

There's some grumbling, but they both get up eventually, gathering their stuff and collecting hugs.

"See you for practice tomorrow," Carter says quietly into Patrick's ear like Jonny's not right there and able to hear everything.

"Damn right," Patrick says back, offering a fistbump, ruffling his hair.

They clear out, chatting and giggling, and Jonny keeps looking at Patrick funnily until the kids are gone, the stomping noises of their feet on the stairs getting quieter and quieter.

Patrick makes a face in response. "What?"

"See you for practice tomorrow, eh?" Jonny echoes and Patrick grimaces again. He knows Jonny doesn't mind them messing around in here. There's nothing that couldn’t be replaced easily.

"I guess we're having daily appointments by now."

Jonny hums, weirdly quiet for a moment. Then, he slides his hand to Patrick's neck and sucks his bottom lip between his lips, gentle but abruptly enough to make Patrick gasp in surprise.

"What's that for?" he mutters once Jonny releases his lip, nibbling on his ear instead.

"I'm just—" Jonny pulls him over so Patrick's in his lap, knees braced on either side of Jonny's hips, his hands resting on Jonny's shoulders. "The kids like you."

"Yeah," Patrick says on an exhale. Jonny's breath is warm on his tingly skin.

"No way of escaping now." Jonny teases his fingertips along his ribcage, pulling back to look into Patrick's eyes. "The kids will never let it happen."

"Fine with me." It's not like he has any plans of escaping. Not that Jonny would let it happen anyways.

Jonny's hand finds Patrick's half-hard dick, and he smiles at the twitch it gives at the touch.

"Greedy," he comments the roll of Patrick's hips like Patrick can't feel the hard-on pressing into his leg. He does it again, pointedly ignoring Jonny's appreciative hum.

Patrick only rolls off of Jonny's lap to let them move into bed, stripping them out of their clothes with quick, hungry movements. Jonny's already going through the nightstand for lube while he lazily jerks himself off, his eyes focused on Patrick's body.

"Let me ride you," Patrick begs, squirming around the three fingers Jonny's got buried in his hole. It's so much already, but not enough—it never is until he's got Jonny's cock inside of him.

Jonny groans in response. Patrick's breath hitches when Jonny's fingers slip out of his hole, but Jonny's already getting a firm grip on his hips, pulling him back in his lap. He's leaning against the wall so Patrick starts mouthing at his neck until Jonny turns his head and kisses him.

His lips swallow every whimper as Patrick sinks down on his dick. It's so fucking good. So, so good. Jonny seems to be everywhere, his arms around his body, his dick buried deep in Patrick's hole, his lips on Patrick's.

"Pretty," he mutters, dragging his mouth along the line of Patrick's throat. "You're so tight."

He nods shakily, starting to fuck himself on Jonny's dick with smooth rolls of his hips. Every time he lifts himself up, his thighs are trembling and he whimpers every time he sinks back down, Jonny's cock pressing up against his prostate.

And then Jonny starts flicking his thumb over Patrick's nipple, grinning at his sharp cry, knowing how much Patrick likes this, Jonny altering between gentle flicks, rolling the flesh roughly between his fingers, and digging his nail into it.

"Hurts," Patrick whispers, wincing at the rawness in his voice.

"Yeah," Jonny agrees and does it again, pinching and pulling until Patrick whimpers, arching his back. It forces Jonny's dick deeper inside, and the whimper turns into an aroused groan.

He sets a faster pace for himself the rougher Jonny's being. It's so good, the small zings of pain mixing with the pleasure, creating this fuzzy hot feeling in him like water that's bubbling but not quite boiling.

Jonny bends down and closes his lips around the other nipple, soft flicks of his tongue that make Patrick cry out with lust. Jonny's arms are trembling around him, just slightly but Patrick can feel it in his entire body. Can feel the puffy breaths that Jonny's taking as he peppers kisses around the skin that's wet with his spit.

"Jonny," Patrick whispers huskily. "Jon—"

He interrupts himself with a gasp, arching his back, fingers tightening around his own dick as he comes. His thighs are shaking too much to ride Jonny, but he keeps rocking his hips, pressing his chest against Jonny's face, vaguely registering that Jonny slides his arms back around him.

His body goes boneless and melts into Jonny's, too busy catching his breath to realize that Jonny flips them over. It hurts when he starts fucking him, setting a fast, hard pace, the sheets warm around his sensitive body as Jonny's body is pressing him into his mattress. He lets Jonny use his body, tips his head back to let him mouth along his neck, shaky fingers carding through Jonny's short hair until he comes inside of him.

Jonny's beautiful like this, eyes half-lidded, teeth sinking into his lower lip, his forehead pressed against Patrick's. They stay like that even after he pulls out, and Patrick relaxes into it, the grounding weight of Jonny on top of him.

"Sweetheart—" Jonny whispers and Patrick's eyes flutter shut. He loops his arms around Jonny's neck and holds on.

"I wanted you so much that night," Jonny says later when Patrick's head is resting on his chest. "I took one look at you and wanted you so badly to be mine."

There's no need to pretend he doesn't know what night Jonny is talking about. He still can't remember much about it, but he does remember the way Jonny seemed to undress him with the sheer intensity of his eyes before Patrick had even approached him.

"Well, I am yours."

Jonny cups his neck and squeezes, nodding like he hasn't heard it before. Like he doesn't know already.

"Yeah," he says, all soft and fond. Patrick shivers. "You're mine."

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Although not described in graphic detail, Jonny and Kirby are being wounded by gunshots in this fic. There is also another (quite long scene) of Patrick being kidnapped and Patrick and Jonny being threatened with a gun.
> 
> I’m on on [ tumblr ](https://jonny-toews.tumblr.com/)


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